


Northern Lights, Southern Gods

by yelenavasilyevna



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Alternate Universe - His Dark Materials Fusion, Daemon Touching, F/F, F/M, Gen, Modern AU, Queen Daenerys Targaryen, R Plus L Equals J, game of thrones fandom u scare me, his dark materials is BACK babey, i'm not going to tag everyone that's in this just know that basically everyone is, it's weird okay just stay with me i promise this'll be fun, president robert baratheon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:41:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27680167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yelenavasilyevna/pseuds/yelenavasilyevna
Summary: Bran Stark isn't the first child to go missing, and he won't be the last. Corruption brews in the White House. The first lady hungers for power. A little girl finds a portal. Ned Stark just wants his son back.In another world, Daenerys Targaryen sits the throne, as her ancestors have for three hundred uninterrupted years.
Relationships: Brienne of Tarth/Margaery Tyrell, Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, this is rly just genfic
Comments: 11
Kudos: 22





	1. Ned

**Author's Note:**

> Everyone say thank u fern lacedramblings for looking this mess over despite having no idea who these people are. ILY xoxo

He had disappeared a week ago, and the Stark household had come charging to a halt. There was nothing else to do--a kind of helplessness Ned didn't care for, to stand in the frozen eye of a media hurricane. But Catelyn had taken it harder than anyone. He watched her now, standing in the middle of the living room, her hands wrapped too tightly around a mug of coffee that had long gone cold. It was a monstrous thing, to lose a child. 

“They’re going to find him, mom.” Robb, their eldest, lingered awkwardly in the doorway. It wasn’t reasonable to keep him home any longer, him or his sister, though Cat had made it clear she’d rather they never leave her sight again. Ned was sorry to be one more absence. But Robert could only carry on so long, and leaving Robert to his own devices was a dangerous game.

“Go, you two. You’ll be late,” said Ned, not unkindly. Robb took Sansa by the elbow and led them both out the door. Sansa, poor girl, old enough to understand what was happening and not old enough to do much about it. Not that any of them could.

A little boy’s voice broke the silence. “Give it _back!_ ”

No sooner had Ned turned around than a big grey dog came barreling through the doorway, a ragged-looking stuffed bear caught in his jaws. Ned’s youngest daughter was close at his heels. The dog stopped barely short of running into Ned, and she ran directly into _him,_ tripping herself and ending up in an ungainly dog-girl pile on the floor. Rickon, out of breath on his short little legs, came stumbling in after them. “Nymerian took my bear!”

“We were just playing,” said Arya quickly. Nymerian dropped the bear and shifted into his favorite form as a ferret, scampering up onto her shoulder. “Here, take your stupid bear.” She threw it.

“You should let your mother rest,” said Ned. Rickon failed to catch the bear, and cried out in anguish, collapsing down right there on the floor like he was about three seconds away from throwing a tantrum. His dæmon shifted into a bird and picked it up with her beak, depositing it back into his arms. 

“There’s no one else to play with, and he’s too little to be any fun,” Arya complained. “Can I go play outside?” Arya was nine, and not coping very well with her mother’s new stay-at-home order. Every day since Bran had disappeared she’d asked if she could play outside, and every day the answer had been no.

“Soon,” he promised, though he had no real idea how long it would be. At least until they found the children. And he hoped to God that would be soon enough. Arya was resilient, and she accepted her defeat with a meager huff, tearing out of the room, Rickon not far behind.

Ned sighed. “I’m gone.”

“Go,” said Cat, giving him a little smile that looked painful. “You’re needed."

“You’ll be alright?”

“I’ll be alright.”

Ilona, his direwolf dæmon, leaned down to Cat’s little rabbit Pysari, with all the gentleness such a big creature could manage. “Robb is right. They’ll find him.”

Cat nodded. “Go make sure of it.”

* * *

Coming back to work was a shock to the senses. Where Ned’s life might have frozen in place, the White House never stopped moving—Someone was always hurrying somewhere, never short of crises to avert. He'd already fought off a half dozen reporters grappling for a comment. Just then, it almost felt like too much to bear.

“Ned!” Robert Baratheon’s bellowing voice rang in his ears. “Thank God. This place doesn’t run without you.”

It wasn’t the most heartening thing to hear, from the leader of the free world. “Will you have someone fill me in?” He knew better than to ask the President about what went on in the White House.

Robert waived his hand. “I’m sure there’s a briefing on your desk. God, It’s good to have you back.”

“I hope you won’t take it personally that I should rather be home.”

Robert furrowed his thick brow. “I’m sorry about your boy,” he said, and Ned didn’t doubt he meant it. It didn’t make this any more pleasant. “How’s Cat?”

“Staying home with our youngest.”

“We’ll find the bastard who’s doing this, Ned,” Robert said, clapping him on the shoulder with a gruff sort of finality. _All the manpower of the United States government,_ he thought. _If you can’t find him, Robert, who will?,_

His office looked exactly the same as he’d left it, save the untouched and growing pile of paper that had been steadily collecting on his desktop. He moved the stack to the floor so he’d at least have somewhere to work. A warm welcome indeed. So this was what he was giving up his wife for: Paperwork.

“You’re back.”

He looked up. Of course. He couldn’t have expected to avoid her for long. “Barely. Whatever you need, I probably don’t know.”

“I don’t need anything.” Cersei Lannister spent far too much time in the west wing, for someone with no actual position. Ned didn’t like her. Her father was bad enough on his own, but Lannisters were all the same: entitled and overcrowding, with their hands in every damn political pot they could nepotize their way into.

Ned sighed. He had too much catch-up work to be playing word games with the first lady. “Mrs. Baratheon, I’m very busy. If you don’t need anything…”

It was then that Vasalis joined her, slipping silently in the doorway. He was surprisingly subtle, for his size, Ned had always thought he moved more like a fox than anything. But there was no denying what he was. Ned was suddenly face to face with a lion, massive and imposing. He should’ve dwarfed her. She wasn’t a very large woman, it should’ve been ridiculous. But it wasn’t. One way or another, Cersei stood tall enough to match. She smiled. Ned hated her smile.

“Of course you are,” she said, raising her hands, as if in surrender. He knew better than to think it was. “And at home, too. It must be impossible for you.”

At his side, Ilona bristled. “I’m managing.”

“No one would fault you if you chose to step down, for a while,” she said, softly, almost sounding genuine. Almost. “You should be with your family.”

“I’ve already taken more time than I can afford,” he said.

She nodded. “Well, good. I’m glad. Robert can’t burn through another chief of staff already, you’re so new as it is.”

“Thank you.” He sat down behind his desk, all but bracing himself. “Is that all?”

“No.” So she did need something. No surprise there. “They want to know if you’re coming tonight.”

“To what?” Robert hadn’t mentioned anything, but chances were that he’d forgotten too. The irony, of the whole mess, was that the woman in front of him probably knew more about the state of the union than the President did. Not that it was a high bar.

“It’s a conference,” she said. “To talk about the missing children.”

Ned closed his eyes. Nothing sounded more torturous. Sitting around with Robert and Tywin, with politicians and officials, with whatever experts they managed to scrape up as if there were an expert in the world who knew anything about _this_. But he’d promised Cat he’d try. Whatever it took to find Bran. “I’ll be there.”

She nodded. He couldn’t tell what she thought of that. “I’ll leave you to your work.” He wished she would. “And, my condolences, Mr. Stark.” And she left the room. But her lion lingered a moment longer, one final look that left Ned cold.

* * *

"How do children just _disappear_?" Robert demanded. He was hunched over the table, quick to anger and angry with the lot of them. Ned was too. But Robert's methods rarely helped.

"We don't—We're working on figuring that out." Ned didn’t recognize this man: skinny, easily intimidated, representing one of the half dozen agencies they'd invited to discuss this. They should’ve known better than to send someone like that.

"Dammit. This is useless." _I agree._ Although Robert was probably just being impatient. He usually was. Ned hadn't said a thing all night. He was only here because of Bran, and Bran was the reason he should be at home. "The press are having a field day. We look incompetent. You're all making me look incompetent."

Ned saw the first lady quietly take a sip of the water in front of her.

Why was she here, anyways? It wasn’t as if she had any sort of clearance, any sort of expertise. In spite of that, her gall was remarkable—She never seemed to question her own god-given right to do whatever it was she wanted. In turn, hardly anyone else did either. Robert had mostly given up. “I'm tired of hearing her voice,” he'd told Ned. “If it keeps her mouth shut, she can set up shop in the fucking Oval Office, for all I care.”

Maybe Robert's disdain for politics was enough to persuade him to ignore his wife and her conspiring, but it unnerved Ned. Tywin was an overpowered Vice as it was, they didn't need another Lannister tipping the scales. In fact, it was almost a miracle his sons weren't doing the same. True, Jaime Lannister spent a great deal of time at the White House, but he'd never run for office, as everyone assumed he would. Most people thought he could've won his father’s old California senate seat, if he’d tried. But he'd gone straight to West Point, and Iraq after that. And Tywin wasn’t exactly jumping to do his youngest son any favors.

“We should call in the military,” someone suggested.

“And do what with them?” It was Tywin himself who spoke, his cool, patronizing voice. “Parade them around like showboats? Fire a warning shot? Or shall we just assign a guard to every child in America?”

“How do you not have anything on this yet?” Robert yelled in the face of the CIA director, a bald and eccentric man called Varys. Ned liked him better than Tywin—but not by much.

"I have my best people on it."

"Your best people are idiots."

" _Your_ best people can't seem to get much done either," said Cersei. Ned closed his eyes to spare himself the look on Robert's face. 

"You need to make a statement. You look like you’re spinning your wheels." Tywin was both the voice of reason, in meetings like this, and the man Ned was most apprehensive about. He’d seen the cartoons in the _Times_ like everyone else: the puppetmaster caricature of Tywin, pulling Robert’s strings, the eagle leading the boar. Anyone with sense knew there was some truth to it. 

“I’ll have something drafted for the press briefing Monday. ” The communications director, Petyr Baelish, with a fox for a dæmon. Ned didn’t know _what_ to make of him. “In the meantime, sir, I think you should call the families. Let them know their president hasn’t forgotten about them.”

Robert frowned. “How many are there?”

“Fourteen.” said Varys. “From thirteen families. Two were brothers.”

“Very well.” said Robert. “Yes, arrange it.” Several people made a note.

“Cersei will speak too,” said Tywin.

She looked surprised. “At the briefing?”

“No, not to the press. To Americans at home. We’ll arrange you a slot on primetime.”

“Why?” demanded Robert.

“Because she’s a mother. Every mother in America is worried about her children, the president’s wife should be seen to empathize with them.”

“On national news,” said Baelish, an inexplicable smile.

“Precisely.” From the back of his chair where she was perched, Tywin’s golden eagle Pyrros readjusted her wings. “The speech doesn’t matter, Baelish. Make it fluff.”

It made Ned sick to hear these families discussed so flippantly, as constituents to be appeased, items to be checked off a list. Would Robert make a call to him, as well? Would Cersei Lannister play the bleeding-heart mother to win the love of _his_ wife? There were times when governing felt more like a performance than a reality, a play-act of the jobs they all purported to do. He stood. “Excuse me.”

“Where the hell are you going?” asked Robert.

“Just let him go,” said Cersei. For once, he was grateful. _Leave them to their games_ , he thought, as he pushed through the door, headed back to his office to pack up his things. His wife was waiting for him. That was more important than this farce of a conference. _Good luck, Robert._ He’d need it.

They all would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started this fic months ago while I was reading the amber spyglass and honestly had no intention of ever finishing it. HOWEVER. Now his dark materials is back and I need dæmons. You get it.
> 
> Let me know if there's literally any interest for this lmao there's a lot I have planned and I'm hoping one of you will bully me into writing it.
> 
> (If you're reading this vote now on your phones for what Jaime Lannister's daemon would be because I just keep fucking changing it)


	2. Cersei

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“You have quite the knack for treason, Mrs. Baratheon, or is it just marital spite?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me making robert baratheon's dæmon a wild boar: um... that's my sense of humor. My mistake was thinking that everyone was going to... understand my joke
> 
> Warning for a little mixing of book and show canon (and going forward) bc I simply do not care <3 but you're welcome to leave me hate about it in the comments

“Where is Bran Stark?”

Baelish gave her an odd look. “I couldn’t possibly know.”

Cersei pursed her lips. He was a useful man, but only to an extent. She would’ve had to be an idiot to trust Petyr Baelish. But there were plenty of idiots in Washington. “You would have me believe you know everything.”

“I assure you, if I were privy to something so grave, the president would hear of it.”

“And to think, I took you for a clever man."

He laughed. His smile was at once knowing and guarded, a combination she didn't like one bit. “You have quite the knack for treason, Mrs. Baratheon, or is it just marital spite?”

She didn’t answer that. "Who would your real first call be?”

Nikina leapt onto his desk, her little fox ears twitching. He reached over to scratch her neck. Cersei got the feeling he just enjoyed the act of making her wait. “Shall I say you?”

“We both know that’s not true.”

“I’m offended that you question my loyalty.”

She smiled. “I think you’re disappointed.”

“Mm. Lannisters fail to surprise me.”

“I  _ am _ a Lannister.” Cersei said. “You ought not to forget that.”

He glanced at Vasalis. The lion snarled. “I don’t think I could if I wanted to.”

She left the office with a copy of her speech and no more certainty than when she’d gone in. Maybe it was too much to accuse, even for someone like Baelish. He liked to keep secrets, but surely he had nothing to gain from obstructing the search for kidnapped children. All Baelish could be relied on to do was act in his own best interest. Whose interest was it, to steal a dozen kids?

The speech wasn’t bad. They paid Baelish to be good with words, he could very well write a few condolences. She’d make her edits, of course. She was at her desk reaching for a pen when the door swung open. 

Cersei barely glanced up. “Oh. You.”

“Oh me.” Jaime never had been one to knock. “Agent Tarth, this is the first lady of the United States, my  _ horribly _ rude sister.”

As Jaime slipped inside, Vasalis stepped forward to block the path of the woman that had followed him. Useful thing to have, a guard lion. Agent Tarth cleared her throat. “Your new head of security, ma'am.”

Cersei narrowed her eyes. “You’re secret service?” Tarth nodded. Begrudgingly, Vasalis backed off. “I have a bodyguard already.”

“He’s been asked to step down.”

“Why?”

Jaime answered her: “Because he was sleeping with twelve-year-old girls.”

Cersei’s fist crushed the paper in its grasp. _Myrcella is twelve._ The very thought made her nauseous, and blind with rage. But of course it hadn't been Myrcella. She would’ve known already, if it had been Myrcella. Jaime wouldn't have told her like _this._ And Trant was a stupid man, but he wasn’t quite that stupid. If he'd had the gall to lay a hand on the President's daughter, he would’ve lost more than his job. “That would do it.”

A beat passed. “Tarth,” the woman introduced herself, redundantly. “Agent Tarth.”

“Yes, I heard.” Cersei cleared her throat. It was only then that she took the time to appraise the new agent properly. She certainly was an ugly thing, almost of a height with her dæmon, a thick-necked, powerful grey-brown horse that stood by her side. “I’ve never had a woman bodyguard.”

“They thought you might want— After Trant—”

“Yes.” Fine. She’d do well enough. Besides, by the looks of it she was only a woman in the most technical sense. Cersei truly didn’t care to bother herself with who the Secret Service sent her. Jaime had brought her, that meant he trusted her. And she trusted Jaime. 

“Mrs. Baratheon—”

“'Ma’am',” Cersei corrected airily. She did get tired of saying this. “If you’re to be on my staff, I’m  _ ma’am _ to you, not  _ Mrs. Baratheon.  _ And certainly not anything else.”

She saw Tarth give Jaime a sideways look. He only shrugged. “Yes, ma’am.”

“You’re quick.” Cersei smoothed the paper on the table. “You can leave us, Tarth, I would speak to my brother alone.”

Jaime laughed. Leave it to him to find this amusing. “Should she also bow at the neck,  _ Your Majesty?  _ Or would a full curtsey be more appropriate."

“If she likes.” He made fun, but it would be nice, to finally get a bit of respect around here. She studied her a moment longer. “And she’d do well not to turn her back on me.”

Once Tarth was gone, she looked to Jaime. “What do you make of her?”

“Tarth?" he asked, leaning on the edge of her desk. “I know her. She's a vet, served under me in Iraq. I'm fairly sure she’s got a good head on her shoulders.”

“Fairly?” Cersei watched his dæmon cross the room to Vasalis. Visya was a lion too, a she-lion of course, smaller, but hardly less fearsome. As a pair of beasts, they made a striking sight. Cersei had always thought it fitting, that their dæmons would match. They looked like they belonged together. “That’s comforting. Thank you.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Would I put you in bad hands?”

“Last I checked,  _ you _ weren’t the one making Secret Service appointments. Or did father finally make you get a job?”

Jaime waved her off. “You could do worse. Try to refrain from eating her alive, will you?”

“I’ll try."

"I make no promises," said Vasalis, laying his head on his paws.

"What is she, a lesbian?"

"Most likely." Jaime reached over, plucking the speech off the desk. Cersei watched him read, sitting back in her chair. “This is charming.”

“Father wants me playing at housewife again.”

“You are a housewife.”

Cersei made a face. “I’m the First Lady.”

“It is a very  _ nice _ house.”

She stole it back out of his hand. “I had thought to be done with this nonsense once we were off the campaign trail. The least he could do is give me a job.”

“Maybe Ned Stark will quit, and you can have his. I heard he threw a tantrum in that conference yesterday.”

“Stormed out like a schoolboy.” Ned Stark was a frustrating piece of machinery in the Baratheon administration. He made no secret of his resentment for her. But there wasn’t much he could do, save for poison Robert against her, and that wasn’t a job that needed any more doing. “He shouldn’t have been there in the first place. We’ve no business having a chief of staff in his state.”

“Who would you suggest to replace him?”

Cersei pushed herself to her feet. “Would I really be such a poor choice?”

Jaime looked skeptical. “Do you  _ want  _ to be chief of staff?”

She did. Not a flashy job, admittedly, but an important one. And a powerful one. Everything that went to the president went through the chief of staff first. Which was exactly why Robert would never name her. “Yes.” She paced around the desk. “But father will never agree to it.”

“No. Rather likes you where you are, doesn’t he?”

“I’m sick of it,” she muttered, facing out the window. The capitol always seemed a rather bleak city, compared to their native Los Angeles. Sometimes Cersei thought she’d do better for herself out there, as a producer, or a personality—she figured she had the connections and the money to do just about whatever she wanted. But the White House had its own allure. And it was what her father did. That mattered more than she cared to admit.

Then a jolt of electricity traveled down her spine and she knew Jaime had his hand in Vasalis’ fur. Her fingers curled tight around the windowsill. The feeling was so familiar it may as well have been his hand on her shoulder, and not his hand on her soul—Except, of course, her shoulder wouldn’t have felt like  _ this.  _ They were never more one person than when they broke the Great Taboo, when her soul went rushing through him, or his through her. Then he pulled his hand away, and they were separate once again. It felt like being split in half. “You should be more careful.”

“Who’s going to see?”

“The window is open.” 

“Nobody’s watching us.”

“That you know of.”

“Nobody’s watching us,” and then he  _ did  _ touch her shoulder, spinning her around to face him. There was nothing in the world more forbidden than touching another person’s dæmon.

But what he was about to do certainly came close.

She pulled away, brushing past him. “I’m going to speak to Robert.”

He wouldn’t like that. But she didn’t look back to see it.

* * *

“What do you want,” he asked, when his agents finally let her through. Already she could tell he was too drunk to be having this conversation. It wouldn’t end well. But she hadn’t come here to give up without trying. On the floor, his horrible little boar dæmon Maktoria grunted her displeasure. 

Cersei folded her arms close across her chest. “I want to discuss my role in your administration.”

“I haven’t given you enough?”

“Not if you want to keep using me for damage control.” He was not a dignified drunk, never had been. No, Robert was by turns bumbling and brutal, with a quickly draining bottle in his hand, half dressed and disheveled.  _ The most powerful man in America _ . What a lie that was _.  _ Her father had taken that title right out from under him—and for the best. She wrinkled her nose as he came close enough to smell—If the press could see him like this, he wouldn’t have a chance in hell at winning in November. Wasn’t it remarkable, what gross incompetence a decent suit could hide. “I want a promotion.”

He snorted. “What did you have in mind.”

“Chief of staff.”

“Ned Stark is chief of staff.”

“For how much longer?”

“For as long as I damn well like.” He slammed the bottle onto his desk. “Dammit, I’ve got one Lannister on my ass about this, I don’t need another.”

So Tywin wanted him gone too. She wondered who he was suggesting as a replacement. Was it too much to think that it would be her? She was his daughter, after all. Maybe Tywin had finally realized the potential he was wasting. The thought emboldened her. “Look at yourself, Robert. You’re a mess.”

“I don’t want to speak to you,” he mumbled.

“If you hadn’t noticed, your country is in crisis.”

“Cersei, for fuck’s sake—”

“—If you’re too much of a pathetic drunkard to speak to your wife, I should fear to see how you lead a nation.”

He hit her hard across the face.

Cersei grit her teeth, took the blow standing up. It stung, hard, but it was nothing she couldn’t handle. A little pain. She swallowed her scream. “Careful.”

“Why should I be?”

_ Because my brother will bash your skull in. _ “Because I’ll go to the press.”

It seemed to pause him, at least a moment. “And say what?”

“Say anything. You’ve just left me a bruise.”

“They wouldn’t believe you.”

“Are you sure you want to gamble?" Cersei raised her hand to her face. Her eyes were watering, against her will, her skin furious and hot underneath her fingertips. Christ, he was strong. She pressed the tears away while he wasn’t looking. “Twitter isn’t very kind to bastards who beat their wives.”

“I barely touched you.”

_ This time.  _ "How would it look for your re-election, I wonder?”

Robert turned around, like he'd only just realized what she was saying. “You bitch." He looked like he might hit her again. Maybe he would’ve: she wouldn't be surprised if he was stupid enough—or drunk enough. Before he could, Vasalis stepped forward and roared, mightily, sending him stumbling back _.  _ “Fucking bitch. I never should've married you," he muttered. "Get out."

Cersei had enough self-preservation left in her to take him at his word. She turned and left. Outside the door, Tarth was waiting for her.

"Ma'am?" Cersei ignored her, starting down the hallway towards her own rooms in the residence. "Ma'am, your face—"

"Your job is to be silent, Agent Tarth. If that proves too much for you, I'll find a replacement."

There was a silence, but Cersei didn't stop to see if Tarth was still following her. Finally, she spoke again. "With respect, ma'am, my job is to protect you."

"From the President?" Probably she shouldn't have said it, God knew who was listening, but her anger got the better of her. 

"If I need to."

Cersei stopped in front of her door, her hand on the doorknob. "You're dismissed, Tarth."

A pause. "Yes, ma'am."

Cersei heard her footsteps retreating. 'Tarth?"

"Yes, ma'am?"

"What's your first name?"

"Brienne, ma'am."

Cersei glanced at her over her shoulder. "Don't ever presume to insert yourself into my marriage again, Brienne."

Tarth was swinging her leg over the back of her horse dæmon, settling in to ride. From his back, she could’ve been nearly twice Cersei’s height. She gave her a nod. "Goodnight, ma'am." And the horse turned around, carrying her off down the hall.

Cersei pushed open the door to her apartments. It was dead silent inside, alone at last in the suite of high-ceilinged, well-furnished rooms that were her only real reprieve from the tedium of White House affairs. She couldn’t really go to the press, not yet. There was her father to think of. And Jaime. Of course Jaime. But it’d been a good threat, maybe even enough to make him think twice before he tried it again. And a well-timed threat was loath to be underestimated.

Still, this role grew tiresome. She could understand a political marriage, but the benefit was meant to be mutual. And in truth it had been her father’s scheme, not hers. She was beginning to wonder how much advantage Robert really afforded her. What had she gotten, really, besides this apartment? There was that thought again: Maybe she’d do better on her own. She could leave him. Divorce the president, make some headlines. Then what? Run for office, maybe—Jaime wouldn’t, but why shouldn’t she? A divisive move, sure, but a decisive one. She was tired of running in place. She was impatient. Besides, times had changed. A divisive woman wasn’t the worst thing to be.

She sat down on her bed, pulled her phone out of her pocket. The crumpled copy of the speech was sitting on her pillow. Jaime must have been here. She had one text from him and ignored it, leaning back to study the ceiling. Vasalis leapt up next to her, curling his body like an oversized housecat.

“You’re bigger than this,” he said. He knew what she was thinking, of course. He  _ was  _ her. “We deserve more."

“I’m a Lannister,” she muttered, reaching up to stroke his mane.  _ Power is my birthright.  _

Vasalis closed his eyes. “So show them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is cersei friendly AND brienne friendly because I love women.
> 
> Anyways next chapter is a Dany chapter! Cersei, Arya and Daenerys are gonna be most of the POVs for this fic. Please god let me know ur thots in the comments, I need them to survive.


End file.
